


Cause you just never know what the Fates might have in store for you

by Ghost_Writer



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_Writer/pseuds/Ghost_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan wants to go to Vegas for his thirtieth birthday and expects Michael as his PBF to take him. Michael doesn’t really want to go, he is still recovering from his retirement party in Vegas and that was 2 years ago! </p><p>But this time it is not just the hangover he has to worry about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cause you just never know what the Fates might have in store for you

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback more than welcome.

**The week before**

“Because it’s my Birthday” Ryan had yelled through the phone.

“But Vegas?” Michael had whined

“As my professional best friend it is your duty to make this the best 30th Birthday party ever” Ryan had stated.

“I hate you” Michael said knowing full well he would be in Vegas on the 3rd of august whether he wanted to or not.

And like Michael had predicted the night before Ryan’s birthday he is on a plane heading towards Vegas, his girlfriend was surprisingly fine with the whole idea.

**The night before**

 “Shots” Ryan yells over the music as they enter the club. It is thriving and the moment they enter swarms of girls appear around them out of nowhere.

“Are you sure, should we slow down. We just drank are way through a bottle of vodka in the hotel” Michael yells trying to wriggle out of some girls arms.

“Where are the other’s” Ryan yells making his way over to the bar. Michael follows behind him, trying to leave the blonde who is holding on to his shirt. His pulls away a bit to forceful but right now he does not need a blonde who is wasted hanging round him. He has a girlfriend for goodness sake and yet girls still try it on.

“Not sure, they said they would meet us here” Michael says ordering some shots, against his better judgment. He can’t walk straight and he feels like his cheeks are on fire. But a promise is a promise; he wouldn’t complain, it was Ryan’s night.

“Here’s to getting laid” Ryan laughs throwing back the blue liquid and grabbing another one. Michael gives him a shut-the-fuck-up-look but just smiles and swallows liquid, feeling it burn the inside of his throat.

“Yo Reezy” Nathan yells as he makes his way towards Michael and Ryan.  They hug and get another round of shots.

By the time it is midnight Michael has lost count of how much he has had to drink but knows that he has to slow down if he wants to keep up with the others.

“I am off to get some air” Michael says to Cullen who is busy dancing with some girl, too busy to even notice Michael looks like hell.

He stumbles his way outside, everything spinning. He braces himself against the wall not trying to fall over.

“MP” he hears Ryan yell throwing an arm around him. “Thank you for an A-MA-ZING birthday” Ryan yells slurring his words. Michael just smiles and nods “Your welcome doggy, but I need to get to my hotel room, I feel like crap” he starts walking towards the Strip but stumbles and lands on the pavement. Ryan just laughs and helps him up. “Come on I will walk you back, just wait here going to let the others know” Ryan says walking back towards the club. “No” Michael shouts back, making his way back over to the club, surprised he even managed to walk up straight. “I will be fine” Ryan throws his arm around Michael and they head back into the club.

**The morning after**

The next morning Michael awakes with a throbbing headache. Everything hurts. Why does he do this to himself he thinks as he tries to sit up in bed. ‘ _Ryan’_ his brain supplies. 

He felt like shit.  For the last few hours, he’d successfully managed to put off waking up and facing the hangover beast. He could deal with the lingering nausea. He could ignore the blinding pain in his skull. He could even fight the overwhelming urge to drink about forty gallons of water. Last night’s celebration was totally worth every moment of this morning’s pain if Ryan enjoyed himself.

At least the bits and pieces he could remember were pretty fucking cool.

The last thing he can kind of remember is challenging Ryan to a drinking contest. To his surprise he easily drunk him under the table. He smiles about that little detail but on cue, Michael’s stomach began to churn ominously, and he took a deep breath to quell the rising nausea. Fine, so he hadn’t fared much better in the alcohol tolerance department. He didn’t know what the hell had been in those shooters that–was it Ricky who’d ordered them? After a few drinks, to be honest he wasn’t paying that much attention –but whatever they were, they’d kicked Michael’s ass, and he was paying for it this morning.

He stretched his legs experimentally, groaning in protest when his calf muscles tightened up. There was a slight shifting from behind before a well-toned arm wrapped around him. Michael went still, suddenly acutely aware of a furnace-like heat warming his neck, back and legs. He can’t remember bringing a girl home. “Fuck” he whispers under his breath. The owner of the arm pulled him in closer.

Being spooned wasn’t out of the ordinary for Michael. But lying next to somebody who could very nearly completely spoon his six-foot three-inch frame was definitely a new experience.

Michael’s eyes shot open and he remained motionless, not wanting to awaken whoever it was lying behind him. This couldn’t be happening. Shit like this just didn’t happen to him.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down a bit so he could think. There were so many people at that party that there was no telling who he could have ended up with last night. The last thing he could recall was lying back on a table while half of the bar took body shots off of his abs. He tried to pinpoint who he might have possibly gone home with, and why on earth did he go home with a dude.

Screw it. He could try and put together the pieces of his wild night on the town later.

Right now, he needed to get the fuck out of there.

He reached down to remove the arm draped over his middle and stopped short, his blood turning cold at the sight in front of him.

Attached to the very muscular arm draped over his midsection was a very masculine hand with a plain gold wedding band adorning the ring finger. A plain gold wedding band that was identical to the one that was on Michael’s ring finger.

Oh no. No fucking way. This could not be happening.

He’d married a dude last night and he couldn’t remember it?

Michael scrambled out of the bed, pulling the sheet with him and landing ass-first in a pile of condom wrappers.

Empty condom wrappers.

An icy wave of fear washed over him.  _Don’t look up. I can pretend that what I’m thinking happened_ didn’t _happen as long as I don’t look up._  Keeping his eyes firmly averted from the huge bed, he looked around the unfamiliar room. Any hopes that he was misreading the situation were dashed as he took in the gawdy red decor of the suite. The rose pedals strewn throughout the room.

He needed to find his clothes. Now. But a voice interrupted his thoughts. "What’s goin’ on? Phelps, is that you?" The voice was husky and all too familiar. Michael reluctantly looked up and all of his fears were confirmed.

There in the bed was Ryan Lochte who, thank God, looked just as confused as Michael was. "Phelps? Where are we?"

So much for making an escape. "I was hoping maybe you knew the answer to that one." Ryan really didn’t have a clue what was going on, so Michael couldn’t get pissed at him. Damn it. "Look at your hand."

Ryan’s brow furrowed, his expression clearly indicating that he’d thought Michael had lost his mind. Oh well, that made two of them. Michael held out his left hand. "Look," he repeated.

Ryan’s face was as calm as it always was as he noted the gold band on Michael’s finger, then lifted his own hand to study the matching band there. He didn’t so much as bat an eyelash at the significance of the rings. Was there nothing that fazed the man?

Michael couldn’t stand it any longer. "Ryan, I think we got married last night."

Ryan chuckled–he actually fucking chuckled. _Who fucking chuckles_. "Looks like we did" he agreed. He sat up, the red comforter sliding down his bare chest to bunch up at his waist. "Look, I doubt this is what it seems. I mean c'mon - I don’t care how pissed I was last night, MP. I would never have agreed to these rings. They’re bloody awful."

He couldn’t be serious. Here was an event that on a scale of one to ten, ranked a twelve on Michael’s oh-shit-o-meter, and Ryan was bitching about the goddamn rings?!

A loud knock at the door kept Michael from saying something that he might notregret later. "Room service," a female voice called.

Oh shit _._  Shit, shit, shit! Michael looked around the room in a panic, his gaze narrowing on the window. It was sotempting right about now...

Ryan cleared his throat. "Are you going to answer that honey or should I?”

"Shut up!" Michael snapped, nodding toward the door. "Maybe she’ll go away if we don’t answer."

"More likely, she’ll walk in and find the two of us in here together with condom wrappers all over the floor. Personally, I’d like to figure out what actually happened last night before we go public."

Michael hadn’t thought about that.  _Shit_. He pushed himself to his feet, and in his haste managed to give himself a wedgie from hell. Perfect. Just perfect. He draped the sheet over his shoulder, holding it in place with his chin and hand to form a makeshift barrier between him and Ryan. He reached down with his free hand to pull the underwear out of his ass. His CKs felt different for some reason, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. Frowning, he looked down to see if maybe he’d put them on backwards or something, and he froze.

Oh come on! Surely his karma couldn’t be that overdrawn.

Michael blinked once, hoping that maybe his vision was still a little fuzzy from the hangover and he was seeing things.

He wasn’t. They weren’t the right colour, he would never wear that colour, they were fluorescent green for fuck-sake.

The knocking at the door became more insistent. "I’m coming," Michael shouted, wrapping the sheet around himself in a makeshift toga and rushed to the entryway of the suite. He opened the door to find an older, petite woman standing there, a friendly smile on her face. "Good afternoon Mr. Lochte. Would you be liking some breakfast?"

Holy shit, did everybody know about him and Ryan getting hitched? Was it on the front page of the Vegas paper? The woman was looking up at him expectantly, and he shook his head. "Uh, now’s really not a good time. And it’s Phelps. My name is Phelps, not Lochte”

A knowing glint entered the old woman’s eyes. "You guys, always rebelling against tradition. Very well, Mr. Phelps _,_ I come back at a later time then." The woman was clearly humoring him, and Michael was suddenly indignant.

"Hey, why did you assume that I took hisname," he challenged. "How do you know he didn’t change his last name to Phelps?" _Oh way to go Phelps, you moron. Don’t come right out and confirm the rumors or anything_. God, he was such a dumbass.

"You know," Ryan called from the bedroom, "if we actually were a couple, you probably would be the bot–"

"Fuck off Fabio, nobody asked you," Michael yelled over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he realized what he’d said and he turned back to the maid, horrified. His mom would _so_ kick his ass if she could hear him right now. "Ma’am, I am sosorry..."

The maid reached up and patted him on cheek. "Do not be silly. Your feelings for him are very strong. You have passion. That is good." She lowered her voice to a whisper, a mischievous twinkle lighting her dark eyes. "The night maid said you two make noise like wild tigers. It is good foundation for long, happy life together." She winked at him, her face crinkling into a wide smile. "Congratulations. I come back later, yes?"

Michael nodded and mumbled something agreeable as he closed the door, but he was still reeling from the maid’s revelation.

He’d made wild, tiger noise with Ryan Lochte,with his best friend who he has no feelings what so ever for, and he didn’t remember it?!

Michael walked back into the bedroom, more confused than ever about his feelings on this whole situation. His mind was taking a turn that he definitely was notcomfortable with. He closed himself off, not allowing himself to go there. Not now, not ever. What they needed to do was figure out how to get themselves out of this mess and not letting his girlfriend know what happened.

Ryan was still in bed when Michael returned. He was reading the Hotel Information pamphlet that had been on the nightstand, concentrating really hard, he glanced up when Michael cleared his throat, acknowledging Michael had entered the room. In the small part of his mind that was still functioning somewhat coherently.

He was impressive, Michael would give him that. The man was so built that every movement, even one as small as turning the pages of a book, caused the muscles in his arms to flex noticeably. The gold of Ryan’s ring flickered in the dim light as he flipped through the booklet. Michael was surprised to see that in spite of Ryan’s distaste of the gold band, he hadn’t taken it off.

Not that he gave a rat’s ass. Neither one of them had gotten a chance yet to take them off, that was all. There was no hidden meaning there.  _None What So Ever._

"So the maid knew what happened then." As always, there was no inflection in Ryan tone, just casual observation.

Michael leaned back against the wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. "Shit doggy, we don’t even know what actually happened. But she drew the same conclusions that we did." He refused to tell Ryan about the night maid’s alleged Tiger Sex comment. "What all do you remember from last night?"

"I’ve been thinkin’ on that since you left. The last thing I can remember is Nathan and me doin’ a pole dance onstage."

Ryan Lochte and Nathan Adrian had done a  _pole dance_  and he didn’t rem--Dammit Phelps _, focus!_  Michael opened his eyes, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "Come on Lochte, you have to remember something.  _Anything._ "

Ryan shrugged. "I’m sorry, MP. That’s the last thing I can recall."

Ryan didn’t sound very sorry. If anything, he sounded more non-fucking-chalant than ever, and it was really starting to piss Michael off. "How can you be so calm about this?" Michael snapped, his frustration acting as a fuel to his temper.

"What else am I supposed to be?" Ryan’s voice was placating. Reasonable. Michael wanted to punch his face in. "What exactly would me freaking out accomplish?"

Ryan stood up to walk over to Michael. Michael was suddenly all too aware that Ryan was standing in front of him without a stitch of clothing on, and it was distracting as hell. _Stop it. Remember Sophie, your girlfriend_ his brain supplies.

And right now, if Michael’s eyes were a compass, then Ryan Lochte’s cock was definitely north.

This was so not happening, not only had he had sex with his best friend and gotten married but it didn’t seem to bother Ryan in the slightest.

Michael could feel himself grow angry, he and Ryan never fought much but when they did it was explosive and right now Michael wanted to fight Ryan. This was not happening; he hated how Ryan stayed so calm. “Why are you freaking out” Michael yelled  “What are you stupid, don’t you know what this could mean for the both of us?” Michael regretted calling Ryan stupid the moment the word had left his lips but there was no going back now.

"You wanna know what your problem is, Phelps? This time, you’re not in control. You’re in a situation that you have absolutely no control over and you can’t fucking stand it, can you?" Ryan’s face was as implacable, but something in his eyes gave him away. They were alive with something that Michael had never seen before. Something intense. Powerful. "Or maybe the thing that’s killing you is that you know, deep inside your gut that whatever happened last night was good. Damn good. And that scares the hell out of you."

Michael didn’t have a comeback for that, but if he remained silent, Ryan would assume that it was because Michael thought he was right. So Michael did the only thing that he could think of.

He took a swing at Ryan Lochte.

Ryan dodged the punch easily, causing Michael to fall off-balance. Strong arms slammed him up against the wall and Ryan leaned in, trapping Michael with his heavier frame. Michael’s heart began to race as Ryan’s gaze bored into his. "It was good. Deal with it," Ryan growled, before crushing his mouth against Michael’s.

And it was good. The feel of Ryan’s mouth on his, the way his teeth lightly nipped at his lower lip, the velvet heat of his tongue, easily coaxing a response from Michael. Michael never felt like this before, not with any of his girlfriends, not with Sophie.

Oh yeah, Ryan Lochte definitely lived up to his reputation.

Ryan pulled away abruptly, stepping back so that he was just out of Michael’s reach. "Michael, you’ve gotta make the call here. This isn’t going to happen unless you want it to. I’m putting the ball in your court." The older man’s breathing was ragged as he regarded Michael, and in that instant Michael knew what the look in Ryan’s eyes earlier had been.

It was passion. Pure, unadulterated passion. How stupid had he been to think that this man was cold and unfeeling? How could he now Ryan could never be cold and unfeeling. He knew him long enough to know Ryan was far from being cold and unfeeling.

Michael made his decision. Like Ryan had said, the ball was in his court, and Michael Phelps never, ever dropped the ball. Taking a deep breath, Michael let the sheet fall to the floor.

Ryan’s gaze moved slowly, deliberately over his body. His mouth curved into either a smile or a smirk, Michael wasn’t sure which.

"Nice knickers," Ryan observed dryly. "Now take ‘em off."

**Later that day**

Cullen couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

It couldn’t be possible. Hell, it wasn’t even legal _,_  was it? He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Matt, however, articulated his skepticism pretty well. "No fucking way."

Nathan raised his right hand. "Scouts Honor." Were it not for the twitching of Ricky’s lips, Cullen would have almost believed that the swimmer was sincere.

Cullen finally found his voice. "You mean that Phelps and Lochte actually got--"

"I’m tellin’ you, mate, they got completely pissed! Bunch of us lugged their sorry arses outta the bar after they’d passed out an’ booked ‘em in the honeymoon suite. Found ‘em matching wedding bands an’ everything." For Nathan’s own health, Cullen hoped that Ricky didn’t have that same shit-eating grin on his face when he told Phelps and Lochte about his little prank. "Even got a maid to drop by and congratulate the happy couple."

"And the underwear switch. That was a good one!" Nathan grinned at his teammate. "Three hundred dollars for the bloody room, but the look on their faces willl be worth it."

"I can’t believe you two did that!" Cullen exclaimed, gaping at the two swimmers in disbelief. "You do realize that they’re going to kill you when they find out, right?"

"Oh come on, it was a good joke" Nathan laughed, completely unrepentant. "Don’t worry, I plan on tellin’ em. In fact, I’ve been ringing Ryan’s cell phone for the last half hour, but he isn’t answering. I hope they get here soon – we need to catch our flight out of here.

"Ryan’s not answering his phone because he’s probably on his way here with Michael right now so that he can kill you _"_  Cullen reiterated slowly, like a kindergarten teacher addressing a student.

"Nah, they’re sports. We’ll all have ourselves a great laugh over it, you’ll see." Nathan didn’t sound too concerned, so Cullen opted not to worry about it. After all, it wouldn’t be his ass on the end of the kicking. And maybe next time, Phelps and Lochte should be more careful about getting pissed faced. Bad things really could happen if you didn’t watch yourself. Especially in Vegas.

You just never knew what the Fates might have in store for you

 

 


End file.
